


Five times Edmund Hewlett went on a date with Anna Strong, and one time he realised it was a date

by Nemainofthewater



Series: Liberty Song (AKA the Turn band AU nobody asked for) [1]
Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Abraham Woodhull: eternal third wheel, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe- Band, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Mary: amazing badass, Misunderstandings, Open Mics, Tea, Unrequited Crush, at least Hewlett thinks it's unrequited, band!au, edmund is sooooo oblivious, edmund you idiot, lawyer!Hewlett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-06-05 22:36:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15180860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: Edmund meets the love of his life on a cold winter’s morning with the scent of frost in the air and the last autumn leaves clinging to the trees.Edmund Hewlett and Anna Strong have been dating for the past five months. Too bad no one thought to tell Edmund Hewlett that.(They're too busy betting on how long it takes for him to figure it out).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThebanSacredBand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThebanSacredBand/gifts).



> This is part of an ongoing Turn band!au that ThebanSacredBand and I came up with! Please excuse the Britishisms. The characters may also be very OOC as I haven't watched Turn in a while...

1.

 

Edmund meets the love of his life on a cold winter’s morning with the scent of frost in the air and the last autumn leaves clinging to the trees. He is shivering in his fashionable coat and three-piece suit: although he has been a resident of New Hampshire for the past five years, he still hasn’t got used to the cold.

 

When he spots the trendy coffee shop to his left, he takes it as the salvation that it is, and quickly ducks inside.

 

It smells like cinnamon and Christmas outside, and Edmund is immediately transported back to winters with his mother, small fire blazing and valiantly trying to keep out the damp English weather. There are only two or three tables, and it looks like the place has never heard of the internet, let alone wifi. Edmund can’t see any plug points, and there’s what appears to be an old-fashioned dial-up telephone in the corner. It is, in short, a completely unsuitable place for anyone, let alone a hot-shot lawyer, to work in.

 

Edmund falls in love immediately.

 

He tentatively makes his way to the counter and glances up at the blackboard. There are two handwritten options: tea or coffee.

 

He hesitates, then screws his courage to the sticking place.

 

“Erm, good morning Miss,” he begins politely, inwardly wincing.

 

The dark-haired barista gives him an unimpressed look.

 

“It’s Ms actually,” she replies flatly.

 

Edmund blushes violently, cursing his fair skin.

 

“O-of course,” he stutters. “How rude of me. I just wanted to enquire as to whether you would mind making me some tea. If you’re not busy that is.”

 

The barista glances around the deserted café.

 

“I think that I can manage,” she replies dryly. “If you take a seat, I’ll bring your tea out to you when it’s ready.”

 

Edmund, if possible, feels himself go even redder. He does as bid, scrambling to pull out one of the wooden chairs with a clatter that seems to echo in the small space, and sitting down hurriedly. He pulls a file out of his bag, and endeavours to look as busy as possible, hiding his even redder face.

When the tea arrives, he resolves, he will complement it no matter what it tastes like, even if it only turns out to be a teabag sitting next to a tepid mug of water, as most American tea tends to be.

 

The small steaming teapot that he receives is therefore a surprise, as is the dainty china cup and saucer complete with tea strainer. What’s more, there’s a jug full of what looks like proper milk, not the cream that he is sometimes served and therefore is forced to use, lest he cause offense.

 

Shocked he stares down, and then looks up at the barista whose expression is decidedly amused.

 

He carefully pours his tea through the strainer, and then adds a splash of milk. He tentatively takes a sip, feeling that at any moment it will be revealed as a trick, and he will find himself drinking over-brewed Starbucks tea.

 

The tea is perfect.

 

He looks up at the barista who has graduated to outright smirking.

 

“How…?” he asks helplessly.

 

There is definitely a full-blown smirk on her face now, and she laughs sitting down opposite him.

 

“Unless you mind?” she asks, gesturing at the table with her hands.

 

“By all means!” he almost shouts. He extends the hand not holding the teacup towards her, narrowly avoiding upending the milk jug.

 

“Ah, Edmund Hewlett, at your service,” he says.

 

The barista solemnly extends her own and shakes Edmund’s hand.

 

“Anna Strong at yours,” she replies. “I take it you approve of the tea?” she continues, glancing toward the cup that he is yet to put down.

 

“Ms Strong,” he says, “I can truthfully say that it is the best tea that I have ever had in this entire continent. You must tell me how you do it.”

 

“Love,” she replies, absolutely deadpan.

 

Edmund stares.

 

Anna cracks, and starts laughing, her head thrown back.

 

“No, my family is originally from Ireland and my cousins are kind enough to ship me the good stuff every few months. You looked fair frozen, and I thought that you looked as if you needed it.”

 

“This is your own private stock…?” Edmund is aghast.

 

“Then you mustn’t waste it on me! If there’s one thing my time in the United States has taught me, it’s the value of a good cuppa.”

 

“That’s very kind of you Mr Hewlett,” she replies, eyes still dancing in supressed laughter, “But really, it wouldn’t be very business-savvy of me to steal the tea back from my own customer.”

 

Edmund pauses.

 

“In that case Ms Strong, I absolutely insist that you share this pot with me,” he says.

 

“Well Mr Hewlett,” she says, “why not?"


	2. Chapter 2

2.

 

Over the next few months, Edmund makes a considerable dent on Anna Strong’s tea supply, and is almost late to work not once, but three times, something that he should be considerably more concerned about than he is.

 

He isn’t though. He is the happiest that he has been since moving to America and can’t help but attribute it the early morning ritual of accepting a perfect cuppa from Anna, who, depending on if there are any customers in her café, will join him for a chat.

 

Anna is whip smart, and once Edmund gets past the stage of sticking his foot in his mouth, or at least minding that he often talked himself into metaphorical holes, he manages to hold his own, if he does say so himself. Their conversations are eclectic to say the least, ranging from disapproving about Donald Trump together (Edmund tried to play devil’s advocate once, but couldn’t quite find it in himself to defend the man or his, ahem, ‘policies’), to discussing the politics of Westeros (Edmund maintains that Stannis is rightful king despite the character assassination, and death, that he underwent on the sow, while Anna is adamant that Sansa’s keen political sense will lead her to be at least the power behind the throne), to the mystery of the stars (and maybe, Edmund thinks, maybe if he can screw up the courage he could ask Anna to his house, and they could gaze at the stars together).

 

Come Christmas, Edmund even feels comfortable enough to leave a small wrapped box of Fortnum and Mason’s loose-leaf tea on his table, hurrying off before he can see Anna’s reaction.

She doesn’t say anything to him, but the next day as he places his briefcase on his desk there in a heavy CLUNK. Puzzled, he reaches in and withdraws a heavy box. It is wrapped in no-nonsense brown paper that he peels back curiously. Inside, nestled in raw cotton, is a telescope. Next to it is a plain white card with nothing on it but ten digits in stark black ink. Edmund lifts the telescope out carefully. It is heavy in his hands, and evidentially of good quality. He spends what seem like hours gazing at it, occasionally running gentle fingers over it, until there is a quiet cough at the door.

 

Edmund looks up. Baker, his PA hovers awkwardly.

 

“Sorry sir,” he says, “But you have that board meeting at eleven.”

 

Edmund clears his throat noisily, quickly and carefully packing the sextant back into its box and placing it in a desk drawer. He glances at his clock. 10:58.

 

“Yes, of course the board meeting!” he said, over-loud, “Thank you for letting me know Baker. I’ll be right there.”

 

And if he is somewhat less than engaged than usual, well no one can prove it.

 

That afternoon he fairly rushes out of the office, stuffing his files haphazardly into his briefcase, his tie askew, and his suit jacket wrinkled.

 

He walks quickly to the café before he can lose his nerve.

 

“Anna Strong,” he mutters under his breath as he walks, “Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the observatory this evening. Anna Strong, would you do me the honour, no the privilege, no the honour…”

 

It is therefore with a profound sense of disappointment that he regards the CLOSED sign on the café door.

 

He raises his fist to knock, then hesitates. Now that the first flush of adrenaline has worn off he isn’t sure whether Anna would want him to intrude on her personal life. She doesn’t really talk about herself or her life, other than the occasional moan about her idiot best friends, and Edmund has always respected that. Maybe he should return home and text her? A nice message thanking her for the telescope. He would see her tomorrow, after all. He could ask her then? Or perhaps going to the observatory was too fast. He could work his way up to that, maybe see if she would prefer to go for a stroll first-

 

The panicked spiral of his thoughts is abruptly cut off when the door opens.

 

“Were you ever going to knock?” Anna asks dryly.

 

Edmund splutters, until Anna takes pity on him.

 

“Come on in,” she says, swinging the door wider. “I have to go soon, but you’re welcome to come keep me company while I get ready.”

 

“Oh, don’t let me bother you,” Edmund says, “I just wanted to thank you for your gift, so kind of you, I hope it wasn’t a bother…”

 

He snaps his mouth shut. Takes a deep breath.

 

“Sorry, I just realised that I was channelling my mother.” He laughs awkwardly. “In all seriousness Anna, your gift was incredibly thoughtful, and I am grateful for it.”

 

Anna smiles at him.

 

“Edmund,” she says slowly, “Have you ever been to an open-mic night?”

 

Edmund is slightly nonplussed at the abrupt change of subject.

 

“I can’t say that I have?” he replies tentatively.

 

Anna nods decisively.

 

“Well that changes tonight.” She declares.

 

Three hours later, Edmund is gaping up at the stage as Anna belts out a raunchy drinking song, accompanied by ethereal Celtic music. Her band, Signal, including Anna was formed of three women and together the three of them could create the most exquisite melodies that lingered in one’s mind long after the music had stopped. The song choices though were…eccentric to say the least.  

 

Upon arrival, Anna had cheerfully deposited him at a boisterous table, warned her friends to “be nice” to him, and had run off to get ready.

 

“She is something, isn’t she?” asks a man to his right.

 

Edmund turns, flushing at how obviously he had been sighing over Anna.

 

“She really is,” he replies.

 

“But where are my manners!” he exclaims. He extends his hand.

 

“Edmund Hewlett.”

 

“Selah Strong,” the man replies.

 

Edmund’s breath catches.

 

“Strong?” he repeats weakly.

 

Selah laughs. “Anna never mentioned me, huh?” he says good naturedly. “That’s me, the old ball-and-chain. Oh excuse me a moment.”

And he heads off toward the stage where Anna is descending to rapturous applause.

 

Edmund stares after them, smiling weakly at Anna as she catches her eye. She frowns slightly, looking concerned and starts to make her way over, but is intercepted by Selah who claps her on the back and envelops her in a large hug.

 

A stronger man would walk away and save himself a world of pain. But Edmund is weak, so weak, and can’t give up his morning teas, and his conversations, and just being near Anna is worth the knowledge that he can never share his true feelings for her.

 

“Edmund!” Anna calls to him, her eyes bright and dancing, her cheeks flushed.

 

“How did you like it?”

 

Edmund looks at her, at how happy she is, at Selah in the background…

 

“You were amazing,” he says.

 

Beaming she envelops him in a hug and plonks herself down at the table. Onstage another band, Culper?, starts playing. Anna leans close, and points to them, whispering their names and critiques of their songs in his ear.

 

Edmund closes his eyes and pretends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got a lot angsty-er than expected. Sorry?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hewlett brings obliviousness to a new level.

3.

 

“Please?”

 

“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

 

“Come on Eddy, it’ll be fun!”

 

“Don’t call me Eddy. Edmund if you really must. Or better yet, counsellor.” Hewlett snaps.

 

Of all the things that has come out of being Anna’s friend, dealing with Abraham, Call-me-Abe, Woodhull is one of the worst. Edmund apparently spent an entire evening sitting next to him at Anna’s open mic night and reminds Edmund of nothing so much as a puppy: dopey, fundamentally harmless, but extremely annoying and not yet housetrained.

 

Under the table Anna squeezes his hand reassuringly, and as he looks up at her, she rolls his eyes.

 

 _Sorry,_ she mouths tilting her head toward Woodhull, and Edmund has to look down to hide his smile.

 

Being in hopeless, unrequited love isn’t really that bad. Especially since Selah has apparently returned to Washington where he works as a legal aide.

 

And really, what sort of spouse just wanders off to Washington for most of the year, and leaves his wife alone? As a completely uninvested, impartial individual Edmund can say only a moron would do something like that: Selah is able to spend all of his waking hours with someone as wonderful as Anna, and yet chooses not to. Americans.

 

Anna leans forward, and says delicately: “Really, there’s no reason to bully poor Edmund, Abe. He’s come to our last three open mics, and Lord knows that that’s enough for anyone. There’s no need to make him come to our concert as well if he doesn’t want to.”

 

Edmund turns around abruptly.

 

“OUR concert?” he enquires. “You mean it’s not just going to be Woodhull’s boyband?”

 

“It’s called Culper!” Woodhull interjects. Nobody reacts.

 

Anna shakes her head.

 

“No, the Signals are going to be there as well, and we were lucky enough to get Jandré to come as John already knows Abigail. Ben’s booked a relatively big venue, and I might even earn some money this evening.”

 

Woodhull scowls.

 

“Freakin’ Arnold, that sell out,” he mutters bitterly.

 

Edmund ignores him.

 

Looks closer at Anna.

 

Who despite her words to the contrary actually does look a little nervous. As if she did want Edmund to come.

 

 _She just considers you a good friend,_ he reminds himself, _don’t get greedy and overstep._

“Well in that case,” he says, interrupting Woodhull’s monologue on That-Snake-Arnold, “I would be delighted to come. If it’s no trouble, of course.”

 

Anna seems to light up.

 

“Don’t feel like you have to force yourself, but we’d love to have you! It’s actually a bit of a special occasion: George Washington is going to be there.”

 

Edmund looks blank.

 

“George Washington? He was huge about twenty years ago? Nicknamed the General? Come on Edmund, he toured with Johnny Cash for heaven’s sake!”

 

Edmund is still blank, but he nods anyway. He’s sure that there’s nothing that a quick Google can’t clear up. He can at least safely assume that she doesn’t mean the revolutionary General.

 

“In any case,” Anna continues, giving him an exasperated look that means that he hasn’t fooled her, “Washington owns a record label now, and he likes to sponsor up-and-coming talent. Ben knows his son, and he’s coming to hear Culper play live. But if he hears us as well, and we’re good enough…” she trails off.

 

She glances around her café.

 

“Well, I don’t want to stay here all my life!”

 

A forced laugh.

 

Edmund feels his throat close slightly.

 

“Of course, I’ll come,” he repeats firmly.

 

“Seriously, is anybody even listening to me?” asks Woodhull.

 

Edmund just keeps staring into Anna’s eyes.

 

“God,” Woodhull mutters, “I hate being a third wheel. First Ben and Caleb, now Anna…”  

 

**

 

Concerts aren’t really Edmund’s thing. He would much rather be looking at the stars or riding on Bucephalus (who despite having to undergo stringent quarantine measures has finally been able to join him in New Hampshire), or talking with Anna.

 

 It’s evidentially important to Anna though, so he can grin and bear it for a while. Although, and he may just be behind the times, he still can’t get the appeal of rapping, no matter how famous Jandré is. The only bits he could stomach of their performance were when John André started to play classical violin in the middle of one of his verses.

 

Anna though. She’s radiant, standing beside Mary and Abigail, singing with all of her soul. Signal has limited the amount of drinking songs in their repertoire this evening, and all that’s left is the haunting Celtic music.

 

Edmund, standing in the wings, is in real danger of crying with the beauty of it all.  
  


There’s thunderous applause, and he comes back to himself.

 

Anna floats off the stage, pink with exertion. She spots Edmund, and envelops him in a, slightly sweaty, hug.

 

 _Take that Selah,_ a piece of Edmund’s mind thinks uncharitably, _maybe if you could be bothered to be here to support Anna instead of buggering off the Washington DC…_

 

“You were amazing,” he says into her ear, basking in her closeness, “if Washington doesn’t sign you, then he’s an idiot.”

 

He lingers a moment, and then pulls away.

 

Anna looks a bit confused, but then smiles up at him jubilantly.

 

“I was fantastic,” she agrees, “How do you feel about that Thai place a couple of blocks from here?”

 

Edmund blinks.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“To celebrate!” _You idiot,_ goes unsaid.

 

“It’ll be a bit hard to get a table for so many of us at this hour,” replies Edmund.

 

Anna rolls her eyes.

 

“Just us two,” she says her voice heavy with meaning that Edmund can’t decipher.

 

“Well in that case…”

 

Edmund mimes a courtly bow.

 

“Lead the way!”

 

Really, being in unrequited love isn’t bad at all. Especially not on nights like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be a bit of time before the next chapter is posted as I am moving to America tomorrow!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Christmas party!

4.

 

“Here.”

Edmund stares in confusion at the invitation that Mary has thrust into his hand.

_Edmund Hewlett, you are cordially invited on_

_December 24 that 7pm_

_to_

_Setauket_

_1778 Culpeper Drive_

_Manchester_

_NH 03101_

_For an evening of Christmas festivities_

It is on fine quality paper, embossed with gold letters in an absurdly elaborate gold Gothic font.

 

“Pardon me?” he asks weakly. He’s never been quite sure what to make of Mary, who despite being a lovely person with the voice of an angel, would also no, he feels, hesitate to kill him with her shoe if needs be.

 

Edmund has noticed her staring between him and Anna several times at social events, eyes narrowed, and a general feeling of _pull yourself together you moron_ permeating the air. Needless to say, he has a sinking feeling that she has figured out that he is hopelessly in love with her friend and disapproves heavily. He just hopes that he isn’t TOO obvious about it, and that when she finally makes him disappear for not being good enough, she will at least have the decency to make it quick.

 

(He tries to keep the pining to a minimum when she’s around, he really does, but it is surprisingly hard not to think of Anna all the time, and he can’t always school his face in time.)

 

“You can read can’t you Edmund?” Mary asks, eyebrow raised.

 

“Yes, of course, apologies,” he replies hastily, “but I am afraid that I don’t quite understand why…?” _you’ve invited someone_ _you hate_ he doesn’t say.

 

Mary gives a tight smile.

 

“Every year, on Christmas Eve, we have a holiday get together at Abe’s house. He’s got the biggest house and lost a bet in college that means he has to host in perpetuity or until he finally mans up and pays the forfeit.”

 

Edmund doesn’t ask. He has no idea what kind of forfeit is so bad that hosting a party every year for the rest of time is the better option and knowing more now about Caleb’s sense of humour than he would ever want to, he definitely doesn’t want to find out.

 

Mary is still waiting patiently. Heavens, if she wanted, she could definitely be the benevolent dictator of a small to medium country; the fact that she would be bored to death by all the red tape is probably the only thing stopping her, and Edmund thanks God for it every day. Although he has no doubt that any land under Mary’s rule would be a would be a major world power in less than a decade.

 

Edmund realises that Mary is waiting for some kind of verbal response.

 

“That’s a lovely tradition?” he hazards.

 

Mary looks at him as if he’s a particularly dense toddler, probably one that won’t stop eating the crayons.

 

“7pm sharp, dress code is relaxed, bring some kind of beverage.”

 

She starts to march off, and then pauses.

 

“You’re assigned Anna this year, don’t mess it up.”

 

**

“Yes, it’s just a bit of fun. Nothing too fancy, Robert just likes having the invitations as pretentious as possible for some reason.”

 

Anna, dressed in her pyjamas, hair down, and clutching a giant mug of tea, is looking through sheet music, occasionally making a faint mark or word in pencil.

 

Edmund is in an equally relaxed state of dress, in shirtsleeves with the sleeves rolled up to his elbow and his tie lost somewhere in the detritus that is Anna’s living room. Although Signal are still waiting to hear whether Washington has signed them or not, Anna has taken to closing the café down in the afternoons so that she can go through her music and make sure that they have as polished a performance as possible. Edmund stops by after work every day, often (always) bringing some food with him, and they will sit together for a few hours eating and idly chatting. Edmund brings his legal briefs with him and goes through them at the same time, the only sound Anna’s occasional humming as she tries to get the key right, and the offers of more tea.

 

“So it’s a friendship thing? Friendmas if you will?” he clarifies.

 

Anna snorts, “I can’t believe you used that word. But yes, Friendmas is probably an accurate description. Significant others are sometimes allowed, but only if it’s serious. We order takeaway, get drunk, and exchange Secret Santa presents. If Mary hasn’t already told you she’ll let you know whose yours is soon. She organises it every year.”

 

Edmund freezes.

 

_… You’re assigned Anna this year, don’t mess it up…_

 

“Secret Santa?” he repeats weakly.

 

“Yes, but don’t worry! It’s just a bit of fun. They’re just little tokens really. Something silly that we’ve seen.”

 

Oh no. That’s worse. What’s he meant to do?

 

Anna laughs at his expression.

 

“Don’t look so dour Edmund! You’ll enjoy it, I promise.”

He has less than a week to find Anna a perfect present, that shows her how much she’s appreciated without making his…fondness…for her too evident. He’s doomed.

 

**

 

Woodhull’s house is in fact incredibly large. And decorated with enough lights to cause a power outrage that would affect the entire city if one of them were to blow. Edmund clutches his bottle of nice wine nervously and knocks on the door.

 

It immediately opens and there is Anna. She’s glowing, having evidentially already started to celebrate, and has a tinsel wreath perched precariously in her hair. She drags him inside quickly, and shuts the door again.

 

“Sorry!” she says breathlessly, “but we’re trying to spring a trap and we can’t have the doorway too cluttered.”

 

Edmund blinks.

 

“A trap?”

 

Brewster appears. He has small baubles strung into his beard and is wearing the ugliest jumper that Edmund had ever seen. There are light up meercats on is. None of the colours match, or indeed seem to have any intention of getting along at all. It should probably be banned under the Geneva Convention.

 

“Of course, a trap!” he crows triumphantly. “And one a year in the making. Although,” and his glance turns sly, “even with the best laid plans, there’s always collateral damage.”

 

He looks up meaningfully, and Edmund follows his gaze. Above him is the largest, sprig isn’t the right word, _bushel_ of mistletoe he has seen in his life. And he and Anna are directly below it.

 

Edmund turns scarlet.

 

“Er,” is all he manages to let out before Anna is kissing him. There’s the taste of spices and warmth-mulled wine he wonders?- and before he can help himself he’s kissing back.

 

The doorbell rings.

 

Brewster yanks them back, out of the hallway.

 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to continue later lovebirds,” he smirks, although there is something soft and approving in his eyes. “Our prey is arriving.”

 

And with that he steps aside, and bellows: “Abe, get your lazy ass down here and open the door!”

 

Woodhull clatters down the stairs, Christmas lights tangled around him and threatening a nasty fall at any moment.

 

“What,” he snaps, “You can’t be bothered to walk a couple of steps to open it yourself?”

 

He pulls the door open brusquely, and Townsend almost falls, before Woodhull steadies him, both of them stumbling back slightly into the house.

 

Anna grabs Edmunds hand as Brewster starts to loudly berate them into kissing and: “upholding this fine tradition, or risk scorning the gods of Chrustmas” to the spluttered denials and complaints of the two other men.

 

“They’ll be at this a while,” she whispers, “Last time it took half an hour before they were able to escape the hall, and that’s only because Ben took pity on them and distracted Caleb.”

 

In front of her, Edmund can see a warm kitchen with the scent of mulled wine mixing strangely, although not unpleasantly, with the smell of the Indian takeaway.

 

“Ah,” he says, “I know that I’m probably doing this wrong, but here.”

 

He thrusts an envelope into her hand.

 

Anna looks slightly puzzled, but opens it anyway. Inside is a card with the constellation of Lyra on it-

 

“It’s associated with er Orpheus’ lyre,” Edmund mutters, “because your music charms everyone”

 

-and contains a small piece of paper.

 

Anna takes it out, and stares at it.

 

It is a sketch of a horse, and not a bad one if Edmund does say so himself, with the ornate letters I.O.U at the bottom.

 

“The $15 dollar limit stymied me at the beginning,” Edmund mutters, not looking at her, “but I er, I know that you never had a chance to as a little girl, and I know that you wanted to…” He trails off, and takes a deep breath before looking Anna in the eyes.

 

“It’s a voucher,” he says clearly, “for lessons, as many as you want, on horse-riding. I thought I could take you out and introduce you to Bucepheleus.”

 

He swallows, and then continues hurriedly: “But of course if you’re too busy, I completely understand what with potentially getting signed, I mean of course you’ll get signed because you’re amazing-“

 

He is cut off because Anna hugs him.

 

“It’s perfect,” she says into his ear.

 

Edmund is warm, surrounded by Anna’s smell, and the knowledge that she does want to spend time with him, and really? Yes.

 

All is perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, life has been hectic recently! Happy holidays to everyone, and I hope that you have a happy and healthy 2019!


	5. Chapter 5

“Is that a picnic basket?” Edmund asks. It one of those classic wicker baskets, probably lined with gingham, that looks straight out of Fortnum’s and Masons.

 

“Well observed counsellor,” Anna replies. She’s maybe laughing at him. She’s definitely laughing at him. Edmund doesn’t mind though. Anna’s laughter never feels malicious, more like there’s a joke that only she can see, but for some reason she’s inviting him to share it.

 

“Is there any reason for the basket?”

 

Although he has to admit that confusing as it is, it is a damn sight more welcome than the stack of briefs he was going through.

 

“Edmund,” Anna says patiently, “It’s February 14th. “

 

“Yes?”

 

“Valentine’s day.”

 

Edmund groans.

 

“That over commercialised crap that America decided was the perfect day to sell overpriced cartoon hearts and flowers: and may I just say that…substance that Americans call chocolate is frankly disgraceful…”

 

He trails off. Anna is American.

 

“Ah. I may have gone slightly overboard… I mean Valentine’s say has many redeeming features, like, like-” he grasps around futilely, “I mean I always thought that you looked amazing in red?”

 

Wait no.

 

Anna just shakes her head fondly and opens the basket.

 

“Luckily,” she says, “I planned for your English snobbery.”  

Inside the basket is a bottle of champagne, delicate sandwiches, strawberries, the obligatory thermos flask of tea, and…

 

“Cadbury’s!”

 

“Fruit and nut,” Anna confirms. She laughs.

 

“What? I do listen to you when you go off on your rants about chocolate, you know.”

 

“Of course you do,” Edmund mutters, looking away to hide his smile.

 

“But,” he continues, “That still doesn’t explain anything.”

 

“Edmund,” Anna says seriously, “You are going to put those legal briefs back into your case, and then you are going to accompany me to a as of yet undisclosed location where we are going to have a nice picnic. Do you understand?”

 

Edmund nods. What else is there to do really? And anyway with Selah still in Washington DC, and Ben and Caleb together, and Abigail and Mary looking after Cicero, and Richard and Abe-whatever they are, it must be hard for Anna around this time of the year. Edmund pushes down another flare of jealousy. If he were the one lucky enough to have Anna in his life, he wouldn’t be running off and leaving her alone on special occasions like this. In fact…

 

“I’ll just go and drop my briefcase back at the office then and meet you back here,” he says quickly, “Dreadfully important documents in here you see, nothing that I could leave lying around.”

 

He’s stuffing papers into his bag as he talks, acutely aware that they are about the same level of importance and confidentiality as the local tabloid. He rushes out of the room.

 

There’s a lovely florist’s a couple of blocks down from Anna’s café, and when he gets there is he relieved to see that there are still bouquets left. Which ones? Not the roses, lovely as they are. Too overly commercialised and too romantic. He doesn’t want to give Anna the impression that he’s ‘making the moves’ on her when all she needs is support. What then? Looking around, he sees a small, lovely bouquet of wildflowers. White anemones. Perfect.

 

He grabs the bouquet, and swiftly makes his way to the cashier.

 

“Bouquet for the girlfriend?” she asks conversationally as she rings up the purchase.

 

“I-yes,” he says. It’s slightly shameful, to be indulging his fantasies like this, but really: what can it hurt?

 

 Not-running back to Anna, he finds that he is out of breath as he crosses the threshold back into her shop.

 

“You’re back quickly,” Anna says, “I was expecting you to be at least another twenty minutes. And you seem to have forgotten to actually drop off any of your documents.”

 

“Ah yes,” Edmund says, “What an oversight. Here.”

 

He thrusts the bouquet of flowers toward her.

 

“Just a small thing,” he says.

 

“Oh Edmund,” Anna smiles at him, a properly happy smile different and distinct from her amused smile, or her wry smile, or her customer service smile, “They’re gorgeous. Hold on, I think I have a vase somewhere.”

 

Searching around the bar, it is firmly established that Anna does not have a vase but does own an alarming number of tea cups and mugs.

 

Eventually she gives up, instead finding her tallest teapot and placing the bouquet in it. It stands slightly crooked, but Edmund things that it’s perfect.

 

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Edmund says unsteadily, “Shall we?”

 

Anna gives a mock curtsy and extends her arm; which Edmund gladly takes.

 

“Indeed, good sir, we shall.”

 

Their final destination ends up being a hill overlooking the city. Edmund spreads a thick blanket out onto the ground, and Anna busies herself setting out their feast.

 

“A bit cliché,” Anna murmurs in Edmund’s ear when they finally sit, “But I know that you love watching the sky. And it’s quite hard to find anywhere decent that isn’t affected by light pollution.”

 

“It’s perfect,” Edmund says. For once he isn’t looking at the stars.

 

It’s selfish, it’s stupidly selfish and self-destructive, but for once Edmund wants to be selfish. He learns forward.

 

“I got signed,” Anna says.

 

Edmund draws back.

 

“What?” he asks stupidly.

 

“Washington signed us. He thinks that our music is good.”

 

Anna isn’t looking at him, instead staring out over the city.

 

“That’s amazing news,” Edmund says, “I mean of course your music is good. It’s the best music that I’ve ever heard.”

 

In that moment he is painful sincere.

 

“You’re biased though,” Anna says. “I mean, I’ve wanted to sing for years. But now that I’m this close…Before, I mean I never had a chance to fail, do you understand? I went to open mic nights, and I guess I sang but it was fun and there weren’t all these expectations. Washington wants us to produce a record, and to do tours, and to play these proper concerts, and I know this is what… But maybe I’m not ready for it. It’s been my dream for so long that I don’t know whether I want to do this or that I’ve spent so long wanting it that I feel like I should want this. God,” she breaks off, “That sounds so stupid. ‘m sorry Edmund, I just don’t.”

 

She falls silent.

 

“Anna,” Edmund says, “You are the strongest person I know. And you’re brave and intelligent, and I think that you’d be amazing as a world-famous musician. But I also think that you’re already amazing. You said that I’m biased, and I know that I am, but I’m also your friend and I know you. I know you. And now I’m being clichéd, but I just want you to be happy. Because you deserve it Anna, you really do. And whatever you do, I want you to know that I’ll still be here. I’ll always support you.”

 

“Edmund,” Anna says, “I know you will. That’s what I love about you. Would you- I mean ‘ve talked to Mary and Abigail about this, and- Look, I know that you don’t specialise in this sort of thing. And that you have a job. And you’re good at it! Your job I mean. I just…Edmund. You can say no. Please say no if you don’t want to. But…would you be my manager? Just for a bit? Until we get out feet underneath us.”

 

She trusts him. She wants him to help her. She’s showing him a vulnerable part of herself because he a good friend. Bile rises in his throat. He had been about to throw that all away, to act on some stupid selfish instinct and throw away the most precious thing in his life when Anna needs his support. She needs something to lean on, not another complication.

 

He reaches over and hugs her.

 

“Of course,” he says, “Whatever you need.”


	6. Chapter 6

+1

 

They’re sitting in Anna’s little flat, working in comfortable silence as has become their tradition, when it happens. When Edmund gets the call. He doesn’t think anything of it.

 

“Hello?” he says into his mobile.

 

“Mr Edmund Hewlett?” a vaguely familiar voice says.

 

“This is he.”

 

“Good. Er, sorry this is Sylvia from Cater Stables.”

 

“Cater Stables?”

 

Cater Stables, located just outside of Manchester, is one of the finest stables on the East Coast, sprawling over 74-acres and adjoins conservation land on three sides. They are usually a training facility, but one of the perks of being a hot-shot lawyer at a prestigious firm is that Edmund has contacts. Contacts that he could never dreamt of as a boy.

 

Contacts that meant that Bucephalus has a safe home, where he is pampered to an inch of his life and exercised regularly by eager young students whenever Edmund can’t make the trip up himself. The dent it makes on his bank account is…considerable… but it’s worth it. Bucephalus, before he met Anna and she dragged him into her life, was his only and dearest friend for over a decade and a half. He’s still top three, just underneath Anna.

  

“I’m afraid that I’m calling with some bad news,” Sylvia continues soothingly.

 

Edmund’s heart stops.

 

“I’m sorry?” he croaks out, “Has something happened.”

 

A pause.

 

“I think that it may be best if you come over and see for yourself,” Sylvia says eventually.

 

“Of course,” Edmund says, and he must look awful because Anna looks up from her sheet music, and frowns.

 

‘Are you ok?’ she mouths at him, and he gives a little nod of his head. She remains unconvinced.

 

“I’ll be there in half an hour or so.”

 

He places the phone down on the table gently. His hands are trembling he notes absently.

 

“Edmund?” Anna asks, her beautiful face creased in concern, “What’s happened.”

 

“I…don’t know,” he says, “I’m, I’m sorry Anna but I need to go. I need to get to the stables as soon as possible.”

 

“The stables? Is it Bucephalus?”

 

Edmund shrugs helplessly.

 

Anna stands and softly makes her way over to Edmund. She places a gentle hand on the back of his neck and brings him into a hug. Edmund desperately breathes in her scent and tries to ground himself. They stay like that for a minute or so, before Anna draws back, placing a kiss on the top of Edmund’s head.

 

“Give me a moment to get some proper shoes on, and then we’ll head up,” she says.

 

“Shoes?”

 

“I’m hardly going to drive up in my slippers,” she says, “And there’s no way that you’re driving. Not after a shock like that. You’re shaking, Edmund.”

 

Oh. He is. Still shaking.

 

He feels curiously numb: it’s probably for the best that Anna drive him up. In this state he might end up running over someone. He’s lucky that Anna’s such a good and kind person.

 

“You’re don’t have to-” he protests anyway, but Anna cuts him off with a sharp gesture.

 

“Don’t be stupid Edmund. I’d be a poor friend, let alone girlfriend, if I let you go alone.”

 

Sorry, what did she say? Edmund is evidentially more shaken than he had realised if he’s hallucinating like this. It’s in the same sort of haze that he allows Anna to chivvy him into the car. She presses a thermos into his hands: tea she says. Heavily sweetened. For the shock.

 

The drive up to the stables is in silence. Edmund think of anything to say, and Anna seems to instinctively understand, only asking for the occasional direction.

 

When they finally pull up at Cater Stables there’s a woman waiting for him at the door.

 

“Mr Hewlett?” she asks.

 

Edmund nods.

 

“I’m Sylvia. I think it’s best of you follow me.”

 

Edmund and Anna exchange helpless looks, and then move to follow. Sylvia leads them out the back, toward the stables where the horses are housed, and then further toward the quarantine area where the sick horses are kept. Edmund’s heart clenches in his chest.

 

Sylvia shows them into a small, cosy office, and they take a seat. Anna squeezes Edmund’s hand reassuringly.

 

“Mr Hewlett,” Sylvia says, “I’m afraid to say that Bucephalus is very sick. We think that it’s something that he ate: unfortunately, we think that it might be a targeted attack as none of the other horses have exhibited any similar symptoms.”

 

Edmund can’t say anything: it’s worse than he thought.

 

“Sick?” Anna asks after a moment. “How sick?”

 

“Mrs Hewlett,” Sylvia says gently, “I’m afraid that Bucephalus is in a lot of pain at the moment. And he’s not going to get better. The humane thing to do at this point is to put him to sleep.”

 

“You’re…” Edmund’s voice gives out. He swallows convulsively. “You’re going to kill him?” he rasps.

 

“I’m sorry to say that he’s going to die whatever we do,” Sylvia says compassionately, “But this way we can save him hours of suffering.”

 

Edmund can feel tears pricking at the corner of his eyes.

 

“Can we have a moment?” Anna asks.

 

“Of course.”

 

Sylvia leaves quietly, closing the door behind her. Edmund doesn’t notice.

 

“Edmund,” Anna says, “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Don’t,” Edmund chokes out, bowing his head to conceal the tears spilling down his cheeks.

 

“No. Don’t shut me out like that Edmund. I love you. I want to be here with you. I know how much Bucephalus means to you.”

 

“You keep saying things like that,” Edmund says miserably, “That you love me.”

 

Anna laughs tearily. They’re staring into each other’s eyes now, and Edmund is acutely aware of a smear of ink on Anna’s cheekbone.

 

“I do,” she confirms.

 

“Why?” he asks helplessly.

 

“Because you’re kind. And gentle. And you’re an awful tea snob, and have an unfair hatred for American chocolate, and are so English that probably own a tweed jacket. You support me, and come to all my concerts, and don’t think that I haven’t noticed your contract law textbooks. I don’t want you to go through this on your own.”

 

She kisses him and draws him into a hug.

 

“The last eight months with you have been the best of my life,” she whispers in his ear, “And it’s selfish, but I want to spend another eight with you. And another eight after that. And if you think that you can scare me away with a few tears then you don’t know me at all. Now let me be here for you.”

 

Oh.

 

Things start falling into place. Ben and Caleb’s knowing looks. Mary’s disapproval. Anna’s soft touches, the ‘accidental’ kisses that they keep having. The fact that they’ve met every single day at her flat for the past two months.

 

Edmund has a lot to think about. Chiefly how could he be so blind. Who would want to poison Bucephalus and why. What the hell was going on with Selah. But for now, he sags into Anna’s embrace and clings desperately to her.

 

“Thank you,” he says.

 

Then, finally, after so long:

 

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're at the end! This turned out a lot more angsty and soppy than I thought it would, and I can but apologise? I have no idea how it happened, apart from I have been writing in angst ridden fandoms recently and I suppose it bled through.
> 
> (This also isn't technically a 'date', oops?)
> 
> Anyway, thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos, especially ThebanSacredBand and Tchylle without whom this never would have been finished! I hope that you've enjoyed the ride :)


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